Clutches

There's a little boy standing by the fence with a flag in his hand.
He's sad and confused; he doesn't understand.
He watches his daddy turn and head up on the bus.
He watches him go and doesn't even fuss.
"Why does it have to be my daddy?" he thinks to himself.
Then he thinks back to the pictures on the shelf
Of his dad dressed in a suit with a white cap,
But he doesn't know why daddy's going to Iraq.
He sees his daddy wave at him from the bus's window.
His heart is aching with every sinew.
"Daddy, come back!" he wants to yell,
Because even on the home-front, war is hell.

He stands at the front of class talking loud
About how his daddy is making the nation proud.
He still plays on the playground with all the other kids.
Some stop and ask where his daddy is.
He says he misses him and wants him back
From the clutches of Iraq.

He stands by the mess hall with a SATCOM phone,
Making a call to his family back at home.
His wife picks up and tells him her love and asks how he's been,
And then he hears a little voice chime in.
"Daddy, when are you coming home?"
There was a pause on the phone.
A mortar came in and landed near the Mess.
He knew he had to cover up the phone his best.
"Daddy, what was that sound?"
He couldn't tell him there were bombs landing around.
He said, "I love you," and played it off well,
Because when you're in it, war is hell.

He stands with his buddies talking loud
About his little son and how he makes him proud.
He still patrols around the war zone with all the other men.
Some stop and ask how the family's been.
He says he misses them and wants to get back
From the clutches of Iraq.

There's a little boy standing in a crowd with a flag in his hand.
His daddy's coming back from a foreign land.
The sound of horns blaze through the air
As the crowd erupts into fanfare.
He saw a line of soldiers get out.
He saw him and ran with a loud shout
And ran into his arms.
He was safe from all harms.
He got his daddy back
From the clutches of Iraq.